


Specimen Two Eighty Five

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Branding, British Men of Letters Being Assholes, Captivity, Crucifixion, Dehumanization, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Scarred Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-02 23:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10230944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: Prompt: Cas gets taken prisoner by the MOL or some other people. They lump angels in with all the other supernatural creatures, and believe they’re little better than animals. They keep Cas restrained and burn or tattoo warding on him. They talk about him like he can’t understand them. They strip him, examine him, make him manifest his wings. He can’t escape, and every day brings new mistreatment and misery.





	

_ On the first day.  _

  
  


At first, Castiel had assumed that there had been some sort of mistake. He was separated from the Winchesters during a hunt with the British men of letters. They’d taken down the alpha they were after, and Cas had run across one of the Brits in the ensuing chaos.

He’d gone with the operative, assuming they were headed to the rendezvous with the Winchesters. 

He was half right. 

It wasn’t until after he’d gotten into the vehicle that he noticed the warding, and by then it was too late. 

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

Some days they came for him. Other days they didn’t. 

Each time, the alternative seemed preferable. 

Cas was kept in what could only be described as a cage- a plastic enclosure too small for an animal, let alone a man. He stayed huddled- would have even if the shackles hadn’t forced him. It grew warm inside the plexiglass box- the small air holes weren’t designed to provide adequate ventilation. 

He was grateful that he had no need to relieve himself. Some of the creatures around him were not so lucky. Many of them were too dull and stupid to realize they were soiling themselves. It made no difference to their captors. They were fed and watered once a day, their cages cleaned with nozzles threaded through the air holes. 

They only left their enclosures for the experiments. 

 

_ On the first day.  _ __   
  


As soon as he noticed the car’s warding, Castiel had fought. Or, he’d tried to fight. 

He must have failed, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up with the groggy feeling that time had passed. 

Even with the thick blindfold, Cas could tell the room was bright. He could feel the heat of the lights on his face and throat. Something hard was jammed between his teeth, keeping his mouth open. He could breathe, but speaking was out of the question. 

“Beginning preliminary examination of specimen two eighty five,” a man’s voice said from somewhere nearby. Cas turned his head toward the sound, only slightly; something was in the way. 

Something touched his hand and he twitched, trying to pull away. From what he could tell, his wrists and ankles were encircled by thick cuffs. They pulled him into a rough ‘X’ shape, but were too wide to bite into his flesh or do any damage. 

He tested them as the person ( _ people? _ ) cut his clothing away. 

He hadn’t chosen the outfit- he’d gotten it from a shelter when he was homeless, it was all that fit- but Cas still rankled at the indignity. He was more than capable of undressing, the restraints were unnecessary- and where were Sam and Dean? 

He couldn’t ask, not with the hard plastic filling his mouth. He tried, but if they realized he was trying to speak, they made no effort to assist. 

The person with the scissors was efficient- within a minute, Cas could feel the warmth of the lights on every inch of his skin. Even his socks and underwear had been removed, something he understood was taboo in most human social interactions. 

“Subject is roughly one hundred eighty five centimeters in length,” the voice said. “On initial inspection appears to be a caucasian human male. Limbs and appendages of standard proportion. Skin texture unremarkable. Case files indicate that specimen two eighty five is a non-corporeal being, and that the physical appearance is in fact the inhabited body of a man known as James Novak. Police files confirm that Novak was reported missing several years ago; photographs and descriptions match two eighty five’s current appearance.” 

Cas was silent at the mention of his vessel. If they wanted to know about how he’d come into possession of his body, all they had to do was ask. Jimmy wasn’t missing- Cas knew exactly where he was. He’d visited the man in heaven twice now. As for the vessel being stolen… 

Something cold touched Cas’s belly and he flinched away from it. He was able to tilt his hips to the side, but the cuffs were too tight to allow much more than that. 

“Specimen has markings on the left side of his chest,” the voice observed. “Markings appear to be a tattoo rather than organic skin pigmentation; we’ll need to take a skin sample to be sure. Marks are blue in color, appear to be an older version of written Enochian. We’ll need to send a photo down to the bookworms to be sure.” 

“They hate it when you call them that,” a second man said. Cas thought that he was across the table from the man doing most of the speaking, but it was difficult to tell. The room had an echo. 

“Marked skin sample is in vial four,” the second man said, and Cas felt the unmistakable pain of a blade slicing into his flesh. He screamed and tried to pull away from it, but a strong hand held him down.  

“Restraints are too loose,” the first man remarked. The second man didn’t respond, but a moment later, Cas heard a clicking sound and the tension on the cuffs increased. His arms were pulled further above his head, and he arched his back, trying to take some of the pressure off his shoulders. 

“Skin sample sealed in vial four,” the second man repeated. The site of the wound stung as something was pressed against it. “Blood sample in vial five.” 

“Specimen has a human-typical reaction to pain,” the first man noted. “Basic human reflexes appear intact. In addition, specimen’s wound is hemorrhaging with expected volume and color.”

Cas scowled. His grace curled within his chest, seeking the source of his pain. He held it back. He wasn’t as strong as he’d like to be. He was more than capable of healing damage to his vessel… but he wasn’t sure he wanted these men to know that. 

So he let it bleed. 

He could always fix it later.  

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

Something slammed against the wall of his cage and Cas looked up, startled. One of the technicians was looking down at him, frowning. His baton tapped against the edge of the plastic and Cas drew away. 

It couldn’t reach him in here, he knew.

He drew away anyway. 

“Two eighty five,” the tech remarked absently. “Put him on the table, we’re trying the wings again today.” 

Cas’s eyes widened and he shook his head, pleading silently though he knew it was pointless. 

The tech moved down the aisle, not looking back, and one of the guards replaced him. The cage was keyed open, and Cas shrunk back into the corner as the front panel swung open. The box wasn’t nearly large enough to take cover in, and the guard reached in easily. He hauled Cas out by his collar, letting the bound angel hit the floor. 

Reaching down, the guard unlocked the small padlock which connected Cas’s wrist and ankle chains. Only a second later, he hauled the prisoner to his feet. 

“March,” the guard ordered, and Castiel hurried to stay ahead of him. 

He knew where the lab was, by now, and every instinct told him to flee, to run the other way, but the guard’s baton hung heavy from his belt, and Cas knew the man wouldn’t hesitate to use it. 

 

_ On the first day.  _

 

Cas arched uselessly against the restraints. They were too tight, he could barely move. 

The scalpel bit into him again, drawing another parallel line down the inside of his thigh. 

He screamed, but the plastic gag had been covered with some kind of foam or sponge; all that escaped was a dull groan. 

“Pain centers seem to correspond with typical human physiology,” the narrator said. Cas whimpered. Even with his grace bound in, he could tell that his vessel was running dangerously low on blood. They’d been making incisions for more than an hour- seemingly just to catalogue how much it hurt. 

“Opening the femoral artery,” the second man said, and the blade bit into Cas’s thigh again. Immediately, a wash of wet heat spread over his leg and the table. Cas could feel blood pooling along the edge of his ass and he knew that he had less than a minute before the vessel expired; unless he did something to stop it. 

He sent out a quick apology to Sam and Dean. He knew they were reluctant to work with the Brits, and placed a premium on relaying as little information as possible to their sometimes-allies. 

He’d hoped that the hunters would appear before he reached this point; that the two men in the room with him would realize their mistake and let him free… but he was out of time. 

Exhaling slowly, he released his grace, letting it heal the incisions and replace the missing blood. He intentionally slowed the progress, guessing correctly that the narrator would be taking note of how long it took his wounds to heal. 

“Incredible,” the second man breathed. “Imagine if we could deploy that into the field-”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” the first man interrupted. There was a scratching sound, like a pen on paper, and Cas realized that they were communicating something that he wasn’t meant to know. 

It made him distinctly uneasy. As it turned out, not uneasy enough. 

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

Cas knew they wanted him up on the table. He struggled to reach it before the guard did, to pull himself up; but he wasn’t fast enough. The guard caught him by the hair and yanked him up, shoving the angel face-down onto the cold metal surface. 

Cas closed his eyes and didn’t fight, hoping the guard would strap him down and leave him alone. He didn’t try to fight when his collar was clipped to the ring protruding from the table. He didn’t kick when his ankle shackles were removed, or when they were replaced by the thick fabric cuffs. He even spread his legs obediently so that they could be secured to the corners of the table. 

With his hands still shackled at the small of his back, Cas was utterly restrained now. The guard’s job was done, he had no reason to stay longer, and Cas closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that the man would lose interest and leave. 

As it turned out, his instant submission wasn’t enough to bore the guard. 

Cas groaned when he heard the man removing his baton from his belt. The weapons were multifunctional- they could be used as blunt weapons or, as Cas had learned, as stun guns. 

The two metal points dug into his thigh, just below the crease of his ass. Cas furrowed his brow and waited for the charge, doing his best not to grit his teeth. 

“I’ve heard about you,” the guard said, rotating the baton. One of the prongs swiped up the mound below Cas’s hole. “They say you’re an angel.” 

Cas kept his eyes closed, unwilling to react. 

“Is he ready?” another voice asked. The baton was quickly removed, but Cas didn’t have it in him to feel relieved. He slumped against the table. 

The lights were warm on his back, and he took the opportunity to enjoy a moment when he was allowed to just lie flat and feel the heat. 

They’d be hurting him again today. They wanted to force his wings to manifest, and they’d been unsuccessful so far, but it was only a matter of time. They knew it. He knew it. 

The guard left and the technician rolled his tray of tools up beside the table. Cas didn’t look. It would be something sharp, or something heavy; something he couldn’t heal from, not any more. 

Cas’s stomach twisted as the tech re-arranged the tools. A second person entered the room, and the two of them made small talk as they unchained Cas’s hands. His arms were pulled wide across the table and shackled into place. The cuffs were wide, but pulled tight, leaving Cas’s scarred back bared to the room. He thought of it as potential, now, a taut canvas where his captors did their work. 

With each successive layer of warding, his grip on his true form grew weaker. 

The smell of antiseptic filled the air and Cas heard the familiar buzzing of a tattoo gun. 

He didn’t bother trying to beg- not that he could, after what they’d done to his mouth. 

They were going to strike upon the right spell, eventually. Their experiments would pay off and they’d be granted access to his wings as a reward. 

Sometimes he still hoped that his friends would find him, before that day. 

Other days he was more realistic.

 

_ On the first day. _

 

A smell was filling the room, something metallic and artificial. 

Neither of the technicians had spoken since Cas had healed himself- but they were no longer making the incisions on his body. 

Cas squirmed against his bonds, trying to work the sponge out of his mouth. He knew this was a mistake, if he could just talk to these people, to make them understand...

The scratching of pen on paper continued, even as the smell continued to worsen. 

On some unspoken signal, the two of them began to move. He heard something metal clinking. 

“Careful, watch the cord.” 

“I’ve got it.” 

A wide cloth band crossed Cas’s hips, tightening almost instantly across his pelvis. 

“One stroke, or we’ll lose him.” 

“Go another notch on his arms.” 

Cas heard the clicking sound from before, and the cuffs on his wrists pulled impossibly tight. He took a moment to be thankful that he didn’t need to breathe, because in this configuration-

The pain was instant and overwhelming. Even behind the blindfold, Cas saw red, bright and vibrant. He thought he could  _ hear _ it, too, but after a moment he realized that it was only the sound of screaming. 

“ _ Christ, _ ” the second technician said. “Got a set of lungs on this one.” 

“Should’ve anticipated that, we could have measured the decibel range.” 

There was a pressure on his torso, one he hadn’t noticed until trying to inhale again. The weight left now, peeling off his chest and stomach with a sound like ripping tissue paper. 

Cas pooled his grace, shoving it at the damage, willing the pain to stop- but when he reached for the power inside him, it was gone. 

He could feel his heart beating in his wounds, a singular throb that threatened to derail any kind of thoughts he could string together. 

The room smelled like burning meat, now. 

“Get some photographs of that, I want to document the healing process now that the vessel is on it’s own.” 

Cas tried to breathe, tried to calm his vessel with corporeal methods, but each labored breath only stretched the tortured skin of his breast, and he soon gave up the attempt. 

Sigils. 

That was the only explanation for this. 

He’d been branded with a set of sigils, trapping his grace within his vessel and ensuring that he couldn’t reach it to heal. 

“Do we think this can get infected?” 

“Don’t risk it. If it heals wrong they’ll be ineffective.”

Cas heard the sound of a spray bottle, and a fine mist of acid landed on the open wounds. He screamed again, barely managing to move against his bonds. His shoulders were beginning to ache from the tension, and it occurred to him that if he damaged himself struggling, he wouldn’t be able to heal. 

After the acid came the cream, some thick greasy concoction that the second technician spread over the sigils. A moment later, the whole wound was covered with some kind of cloth, sticking easily to the balm. 

“We’ll check that again tomorrow,” the first tech said, and Cas whimpered at the realization that this pain was going to persist, indefinitely. 

He’d have to find some way to break the warding, some way to cut or burn or scar himself, anything that would compromise the runes. 

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

Cas could feel his grace writhing inside him, tortured by the runes being carved and inked into his back. 

He wondered that there was any space left back there at all, with all the things they’d tried. They were getting closer. 

Maybe he’d run out of skin before they hit on it, he thought dully. 

The scalpel made a particularly deep gouge and he winced, accidentally biting his tongue in the process. The wound there was old, as well, always reopened before it could heal. 

The grace inside him  _ stung, _ as though it were actively fighting with his vessel rather than simply being trapped inside it. 

It had occurred to him, early on, that these bumbling humans may sever the connection altogether. Rip his grace free, or lock it beyond any access, or simply destroy it. 

Without it to sustain him, he’d die; sooner rather than later. His blood sugars and oxygen saturation were dangerously low already. Castiel did the bare minimum it took to keep his vessel functioning; he’d never planned to rely on its energy reserves for any amount of time. 

The scalpel twisted again, biting into the skin above his ribs, and try as he might, he couldn’t find fault in that plan. 

“That  _ gon _ is supposed to have a point,” a voice said. There was a rustling of paper, and then Cas felt the blade against his skin again. 

“You sure?”

“Positive, otherwise the translation makes no sense, look, this refers to-”

“Yep, yeah, I see it now.” 

The blade plunged into him, deep, twisting and gouging to make sure the mark scarred. 

With a cry, Cas felt the last of his defenses crumbling. For a moment, he felt as large as his true form, but it was just an illusion. He was still as small as ever, unable to do anything but thrash as his wings burst free. 

 

_ On the first day.  _

 

The sponge was removed only a few seconds before something hard hit the back of his tongue. Castiel bit down hard on the plastic bit, but it was pointless- he couldn’t break it. More importantly, he couldn’t close his mouth. 

“Should we put him out for this?” 

“No, I want to see how he reacts.”

The hard thing moved past his tongue and into his throat, and Castiel gagged. He could feel a hand on his chin, holding his face still. 

It was a tube of some kind, and it kept  _ coming, _ no matter how badly his body tried to expel it. If there had been anything in his stomach, Cas was sure he would have puked. As it were, the best he could manage was a low groan, muffled by the tube in his trachea. 

“Endoscope reveals nothing in the stomach,” the narrator said clearly. “This confirms the suspicion that two eighty five does not require physical nutrients to sustain himself. The body, like that of many supernatural creatures, is powered by metaphysical means.” 

The tube slid further, and Cas felt a pressure deep in his gut. His body fought against it, but the technician was adamant; the tube went deeper. 

“Small intestine likewise empty,” the tech continued. “More than likely, two eighty five does not need even token food sources, as we see in vampires and werewolves.” 

A hand pressed to his mouth, cupping around the tube. A second quickly covered the first, pinching his nose closed for good measure. Cas held still, grateful that at least they were no longer pushing the tube deeper. 

After more than a minute, the hands relaxed and withdrew. 

“Two eighty five doesn’t appear to need oxygen, either. Ninety seconds of airway obstruction results in no signs of stress or discomfort. Removal of the obstruction leads to normal respiratory rhythm, without any indication that rhythm was ever interrupted.”

Castiel frowned. 

He could have told them all this, there was no need to verify it this way. 

The tube began to withdraw and Castiel gagged, fighting the reflex even as it helped the technician remove the intrusion. 

Once again, he was left with only the hard plastic gag between his jaws. 

The blindfold loosened and he got his first look at his captors. 

Men, both of them, neither older than forty. 

He blinked up at them, blinded by the harsh overhead lights. 

“Human typical facial structure,” one of the technicians remarked. “Pupils round, irises blue.”

“ _ Very _ blue,” the other technician remarked. 

“Still within acceptable human parameters. No bioluminescence or unusual striations.” 

The first tech held up a penlight, moving it back and forth across Cas’s vision. 

“Pupil dilation normal, tracking as expected,” he noted, and Cas shook his head, trying to indicate that he wanted the bit removed. 

For a moment, it looked as though they were going to comply. One of them cupped his jaw, moving his face up. 

“Teeth human typical. No apparent fangs or secondary incisors, though we’ll need x-rays to verify. And he’s got…” the tech hesitated, turning him toward the light. “Two fillings. Silver alloy, by the looks of it.” 

“Fits with the theory of possessing a previously human body,” the other tech commented. This seemed to please him. 

“That’s all we can tell from here. The brand will keep his powers in check while the med team does the rest of the examination.” The tech gripped Cas by the hair, lifting his head to access the buckle at the nape of his neck. 

To his great relief, Castiel felt the plastic bit in his mouth come loose. 

“ _ Please, _ ” he rasped, looking up at the man who had freed him. His throat was sore from the tube. “Please, there’s been a mistake.” 

The two techs looked at each other, before one turned away from the table. 

“Two eighty five is capable of mimicking human speech,” the remaining man said. “When they’re done with their tests, tell the medlab boys he needs a muzzling.” 

Cas’s eyes widened. 

“I’m not  _ mimicking _ -” he started, but before he could complete the thought, the other tech was back. He shoved something into Cas’s mouth, a tough silicone knob that he quickly buckled into place. This one was smaller; it didn’t hold his jaws open or allow access to his mouth.

It did keep him quiet, though, and that, he soon realized, was the whole point. 

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

“I want to see the underside.”

Cas grimaced and pulled his wings tighter against his back. They were the only part of him that wasn’t bound completely immobile, and he wasn’t going to let these men touch them. Not without a fight. 

They tried- taking hold of the outer joint and  _ prying, _ but the wings were Cas’s closest approximation of his true form; he’d win an arm wrestling competition with any human on earth. 

Not that it would save him for long.

Cas smelled heating metal from somewhere behind him and he tried to ignore it, tried not to be terrified by the implications. It wasn’t until the guard took hold of his wing tip that he saw what they meant to do. 

The bolt went cleanly between the bones, cauterizing as it went, and Cas screamed. He couldn’t help it. He’d long since grown used to pain in his vessel, but this… 

He lay on the table, trying his best to hold the wing still. Each minor twitch sent spikes of agony along the bone, and the techs weren’t gentle as they closed the ring and melted it shut. 

They lowered the wing tip slowly to the floor, and Cas let them. It left the wing splayed wide, but he wasn’t going to draw it back and risk having one of the humans yank on the ring. 

It should have been obvious that they were going to do the other wing, as well, but Castiel was in too much pain to make that kind of prediction. He felt hands pulling on the joint, and before he even had time to feel confused, a second bolt was shoved through the wing. He stared as they bent it into another ring and melted it shut. 

He tasted blood and realized he’d been gritting his teeth again. The pain was lost in the haze from his wings. His grace was drawn to the wounds, out of his vessel and into the facsimile of his true form. It seemed to emphasize the pain rather than soothe it, like he was feeling it in his soul, rather than his vessel. 

Someone began to unchain his hands, accidentally jostling his wing in the process. Cas screamed again, his ragged throat joining the cacophony of agony. 

The sound was involuntary; it didn’t stop until he ran out of breath, and when he tried to inhale, his mouth was full of blood. 

It went into his lungs and he choked, coughing and gasping until he finally got it right, drawing in labored breaths that hurt when he went too far.

Slowly, he caught his breath, and the grimace faded into a tiny smile.

 

_ On the first day.  _

 

“So this is a pretty standard order- they take all their scans and samples and then they want ‘em decontaminated and fitted for long term restraints.” 

This room was far darker than the others. Rather than bright, industrial lighting, this room was lit with recessed fluorescents. The fixtures were stainless steel, and when Cas looked around, everything was vaguely damp. 

The man speaking had Cas by the collar, and he was leading the angel across the room in a way that Cas found  _ extremely _ undignified. By the door, a younger man was watching closely; it was to him that the older man was speaking. 

“This one’s easy- humanoid and not furry. The furry ones are the worst. Take forever to wash and by the end of it you smell like a wet fuckin’ dog.” 

“We get a lot of furry ones?” 

The older man shrugged. 

Cas was waiting for him to let go of the collar. 

His wrists and ankles were shackled, and they were joined together with a chain. It didn’t allow Cas’s hands to raise higher than his waist. 

If the man would let go of the collar, though, he’d be able to drop to his knees- he’d be able to reach the warding, or the muzzle, or both. 

The man pushed him against the wall, facing out. Something clinked behind Cas’s back, and the man’s hand vanished. 

Cas dropped. 

Or at least, he tried. 

The minute his knees buckled, the collar bit hard into his throat. The man laughed, walking away. 

“They all try that.” 

Cas pulled away from the wall, only to have the collar bite into his throat again. He pulled at it, but the restraint held tight. 

He couldn’t move more than a few inches side to side. 

“Rule number one; anything you can report back to the eggheads will pay off,” the older man said. He was uncoiling a hose from the wall, and Cas began to get a sinking feeling about where this was headed. “They like to know heat tolerances, cold tolerances, that sort of thing. So first off, let’s figure out if this guy shivers.” 

The water hit him hard, dead center in the chest, scouring the fresh brand like a sandblaster. Cas wrenched to the the side, trying to protect the wound, but the chain on his collar was too short. The best he could do was half-protect it with one arm. 

By the time the stream ceased, the water streaming off him was tinged with red. 

It took Cas nearly a minute to realize that he was freezing, deep shivers wracking his body from cold rather than pain. 

“See? They love knowing that kind of stuff.”

“He’s bleeding,” the younger man remarked. Cas looked up, catching his eyes. The young man seemed startled. 

“He’s staring at me.” 

“Yeah, you’re making noise. They’ll react to that. Act like they’re trying to communicate. Lots of these things  _ seem _ intelligent, but they’re not people. They’re just repeating what they’ve seen.” 

The older man approached again, taking hold of Cas’s wet collar and unhooking the chain. Cas tried to pull away, glaring at him to indicate what he thought of the man’s observation. 

He thought they’d go somewhere else now- hopefully somewhere warm- but instead, the man just turned him around and shoved him back against the tiled wall. 

“Stay,” the man said. He said it like it was a joke, but Cas didn’t see what was so funny. His whole body was twitching, his hair standing on end as the outer layers of his skin tried to warm themselves. The water ran out of his hair in freezing rivulets, a counterpoint to the warm hand currently resting on his shoulder. The hand trailed down his spine, fingers splayed and palm rough and  _ warm. _

And just like that it was gone. Cas tried to twist, to see what was happening behind him, but the chain was still too short. 

“Here, take this and do the back. The front’s tricky because you can put an eye out- literally- but you can’t fuck up too bad doing the back.”

The stream hit him again, just as hard as before, the droplets stinging like his own personal hailstorm. 

Steam rose from the floor, and Cas realized that the water was  _ hot, _ now. It moved in slow swipes across his back and ass, and he just barely got his legs closed before it could hit his balls. The older man laughed. 

“He’s quick on the uptake.”

The stinging blast moved over his thighs and down his calves and then, mercifully, it stopped. Cas leaned his forehead against the hard tile, grimacing, trying not to let his bloody chest scrape against the wall. 

“Went a little too slow there, see that red? That’s gonna bruise. Don’t worry, you’ll get a knack for it. Just gotta practice.” 

“At least he’s not bleeding,” the younger man grumbled. 

“He’s got a fresh brand, there’s no way to avoid that.”

Cas felt someone come up behind him again, and he tensed. Hands moved across his back again, and he winced. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna bruise. Doesn’t look like he burned, though, so that’s something. Bring the nozzle over here.” 

Cas tensed, but when the stream came again it was gentler, and pleasantly warm. 

“Hard stream gets all the ground-in dirt out. Use the soft stream for the rest of it.” 

The man gripped Cas by the hair and yanked his head back, spraying him straight in the face. Cas yelped and yanked his head away, losing a couple strands of hair in the process. The man grabbed for him again and Cas kicked him, using the miniscule range of motion the shackles allowed. 

“Stronger’n he lets on,” the older man grumbled. The younger man laughed, though by the sound, he tried to cover it. The warm stream moved over Cas’s shoulders, washing away some of the blood on his chest. 

“Next part needs the soap. Hand me that?” 

Cold gel landed on Cas’s shoulders, and almost immediately, the water sent bubbling rivulets running over his chest. It stung and Cas winced, trying not to let it show. 

“Gotta make sure it gets all worked in ‘n clean,” the man continued, reaching between Cas and the wall to brush his palm across the wound. Cas leaned his forehead against the wall, pressing his eyes closed and trying not to give the man the satisfaction. 

It didn’t work. The hand withdrew, only to reappear a minute later, covered in slippery gel. Fingers slid through the hair on Cas’s lower belly. 

“You prolly noticed he was coverin’ this up, when he was gettin’ hosed down the first time.”

“Jeez, wouldn’t you?” 

“I ain’t him,” the older man said, punctuating the statement by taking hold of Cas’s cock and pulling-  _ hard.  _

“I think you’re hurting him,” the younger man said. Cas wished he had some way to telegraph his gratitude, but he could barely even turn his head to make eye contact. 

The older man went lower, cupping Cas’s balls and squeezing until Cas saw spots. He groaned and almost by reflex, twisted the small amount the chains allowed. It gave him an advantage he wasn’t prepared for- at that angle, the man’s hand was within reach. 

Within a second, Cas had taken hold of his captor’s hand and twisted, breaking two of his fingers. The man was much less stoic than Cas; his scream echoed off the tile at a pitch higher than his stature would indicate possible.

Behind his muzzle, Cas grinned. 

“Told ya you were hurting him.” 

“Shut up! Go get Aaron.” 

“Why, what’s Aaron-” 

“ _ NOW! _ ” 

Cas’s stomach dropped as he heard the younger man shuffle from the room. The moment his footsteps faded, fingers twisted in Cas’s hair again, drawing his head back and slamming it forward into the tiles. Something cracked. Black spots danced in front of Cas’s vision. 

“You wanna turn this into a power play, fucker? Fine. You aren’t the first dumb beast to need a lesson.” 

The man picked up the soap bottle again, this time squirting a line directly across Cas’s chest. Cas jerked back and that’s apparently what the man expected. He reached between Cas’s legs again- from the back this time, because Cas wasn’t the only one learning lessons today. 

He took hold of Cas’s balls and yanked backwards, forcing him to back away from the wall. There were only a few inches of slack, but the man demanded every single one, pulling until Cas’s forehead rested against the wall and the collar was tight on his throat. 

Cas realized what was happening a second before he felt the soap bottle pressing against his hole. The nozzle shoved its way inside, and Cas felt the cold liquid soaking his insides. He shouted, trying to pull himself out of his captor’s grasp, but all he did was yank painfully at his balls. 

Footsteps echoed down the hallway- two sets this time, and for a short second, Cas thought it might be Sam and Dean. Gratitude wrestled with humiliation, but it was pointless anyway. 

“You called?” 

“Yeah. Fucker broke two of my fingers. Thought you might wanna help me give him a  _ deep cleaning.”  _

The nozzle withdrew, and Cas felt a line of soap dribble down his thigh. 

“You’re not serious,” the younger man said, but the other one- Aaron, presumably- just chuckled. 

“Kid, this job doesn’t have a whole lot of perks. Getting to play with the animals is the closest we get to a christmas bonus.”

Something was pressing against Cas’s hole- hard and warm and bigger than the soap bottle. He squirmed away from it but it was relentless, shoving into him despite his resistance. 

“Boys upstairs say this one doesn’t eat. Still, probably needs a good washing out anyway.” 

It felt like the thing got bigger, impossibly bigger, but it was just the water turning back on. Cas realized with horror that it was the hose nozzle shoved inside him. 

He moaned, trying to adjust his stance as his belly almost immediately began to cramp. 

“Turn the temperature down, will you?” 

Cas shook his head as hard as he could, even as the pressure inside him turned icy cold. He begged against the muzzle, for all the good it did him. 

Inside him, the cold expanded upward, filling him until he could feel his belly distending and growing heavy. 

“Jesus, Rick, it’s gonna start coming out of his ears.” 

“Just being thorough.” 

The nozzle withdrew, stinging as it went, and Cas ducked his head, humiliated, as the freezing water began to run down his legs. 

It was clean, of course- Cas  _ didn’t _ eat, and he’d cleaned the body out immediately after taking possession. 

Still, his time as a human had taught him that evacuating oneself was a  _ highly _ private act, and it was only the pain of distention and the frigidity of the water that compelled him not to resist. 

Rick sprayed him again, more cold water flicking against his thighs. 

Cas whined, shaking his head and yanking at the chains. The two older men were a lost cause, but the younger one had doubts, he  _ knew _ this was wrong- 

The head of the soap bottle pressed into him again, and Cas felt the sticky gel coating his insides.  

Rick reached from behind him, one strong arm encircling Cas’s belly, yanking his hips back until the angel was on his toes. The shackle chain dragged across the wet tile, before stretching to the limit as Cas’s feet were kicked apart. 

Cas closed his eyes and bit down on the muzzle, preparing for the pain of violation. 

Rick stroked himself twice and pushed in, hard and sickeningly thick. Almost immediately, Cas felt himself tearing, the wounds stinging from both the friction and the soap. Rick didn’t seem to notice, shoving himself in as far as Cas could take him, and then some. 

Rick panted in his ear, the man’s breath hot and moist on Cas’s skin. Behind them, Cas could hear the younger man making a disgusted sound; who he was disgusted  _ with _ , Cas wasn’t sure.

“Still wanna get uppity with me, bitch?” Rick growled. Cas didn’t respond and Rick reached up, closing his fingers around Cas’s windpipe. 

He didn’t need to breathe, but it hurt, enough to draw a pained groan out of him. Rick grunted and let him go. 

“‘S what I thought.” 

Aaron laughed. 

 

_ On the last day.  _

 

It felt strange, to have his wings again.

Cas watched impassively as his wrists were encased in wide nylon cuffs. 

The wide ones meant stationary confinement; they meant pressure, tension. 

Cas was glad. 

He was momentarily confused when the tech brought out a long metal bar, hooking the cuffs to each side. A moment later, though, the bar was hooked to hanging chains, and it began to make sense. 

It was all rather clever, Cas observed, watching the chains recede into the ceiling. For full access to his wings, they’d need a subject that was vertical, not horizontal. Of course, suspending a human in this manner would be incredibly dangerous but… 

But as they were so fond of informing him, Cas  _ wasn’t _ human. 

He wrapped his wings around himself as he was hoisted taut, taking comfort in their shelter one last time. His grace surrounded him like a blanket, warming the body where only his consciousness remained trapped. 

One of the techs approached, taking hold of the outermost wing joint, and Cas made his move. He twisted his hands, taking hold of the bar and using it to lever his body up. He was weaker than he’d hoped, but he still planted his feet into the tech’s chest with a satisfying  _ whump. _

He watched her fall back, clutching her breast, and waited for the retribution. 

It wasn’t slow in coming. 

His feet were shackled to another iron bar, and his arms were winched higher, until his toes barely touched the ground. Cas’s breath grew shallow, and almost immediately, his vision began to dim. His mind raced, and he found himself gripping the bar again, pulling himself up to take the pressure off his chest. 

One of the techs took hold of his wing, gripping it by the ring and pulling it wide. 

Another did the same to the other side, oblivious to Castiel’s screams of pain.

His arms trembled with exertion and he relaxed, going slack. Almost instantly he felt the need to breathe. 

His vision dimmed again, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. 

Out of everything that had been done to him, this was by far the most mortifying. It was bad enough that they pawed at his human vessel, but this-

One of the techs stroked her hand down the inside of his wing, drawing a shudder out of him. He clenched his eyes shut, and the tears gathered there spilled silently down his cheeks. 

His brain demanded air and he pulled himself up again, taking a deep breath. It would have been a relief, if his arms weren’t already reaching the limit of their endurance. 

He couldn’t keep this up indefinitely, of course. If he had any dignity or honor left, he’d ignore his body’s demands and simply give up, hang limp until there wasn’t enough air left to keep him trapped here. 

But he had neither of those things. Not now. Not any more. 

Now, all he could do was hang from trembling arms while his wings were stroked and admired and prodded and poked. 

His arms gave out and he slumped. He was so tired, not just in his body, but in his mind. 

In his soul, Cas was  _ tired. _

One of the techs chuckled, and Cas twisted his ruined mouth into a bitter facsimile of a smile. One last data point for them to ruminate on. Yes, angel wings were an erogenous zone- though the reaction that so interested them was likely caused by his suffocation, rather than anything they’d done to the wings. 

His brain screamed at him to fight, and he tried to lift himself up again, but failed. He didn’t have the strength. Not any more. 

Somewhere to his left, there was a burst of pain as one of the long primaries was wrenched free. Cas didn’t react. It was just more pain, pain on pain on pain, and it was almost over now. 

If he could still speak, he may have begged to be let down- may have told them that his body was suffocating under its own weight- but he couldn’t. His vision blacked out and he grew desperate, groaning and writhing with the last of his strength, determined in the very moment of death  _ not _ to die, but it was too late. 

 

_ At the end.  _

 

“Jesus fuck- Dean,  _ help me! _ ” 

Cas felt strong arms encircling him, lifting him up off the floor. His body drew breath without permission, but the cool air was too sweet for him to stay disappointed. 

Someone was holding him, cradling him against their chest as though he were a child. The bindings pulled uncomfortably at his wrists and wings. 

All in all, though, it wasn’t so bad. 

Cas left his eyes closed, leaning his head against the broad chest of his reaper. It sounded like Sam- if he was being honest, it even  _ smelled _ like Sam- but Cas wasn’t stupid enough to think it was real. He’d given up hope of rescue a long time ago, on the cold floor of a shower, when one of the guards had finished inside him and revealed that it was his human family that had sent him here in the first place. 

Still, if this is how his reaper chose to present themselves, Cas was willing to believe the lie a little while. 

“Is he breathing?” 

“I can’t tell.” 

“Then feel for a pulse!” 

“Kinda got my hands full here!” 

Rough fingers fumbled at Cas’s wrists, releasing the bindings. Immediately, Cas pulled his hands to his chest, revelling in the freedom for the first time in… he didn’t know. 

The raised scars of his brand were coiled and ugly across his chest, and Cas fingered them idly, wondering if they were going to follow him to the afterlife. If he even had an afterlife. 

“Watch the wing.” 

“I can’t figure out how to get this-  _ jesus! _ ” 

“What?” 

“It’s going  _ through-”  _

“Mother _ fuckers-”  _

Some of the strain went off his wings and Cas twitched as the damaged limb was lowered to the ground. He drew it in, closer, though he was unable to wrap it around himself. Not with his reaper here. 

“Hurry up, I can’t hold him.”

“Got it.” 

The second wing fell free, and Cas smiled, pulling it to himself as well. This was not a bad way to go, all things considered. 

“Give him to me. Watch the wing.”

“I can’t- Put him over-”

Cas heard the operating table rolling, and a few seconds later, he was deposited back onto it again. It was cold and hard and sticky from where he’d bled on it. 

He opened his eyes then, looking up at his reaper, because he was pretty sure that this wasn’t part of a trip to heaven. 

Dean Winchester was staring down at him, the surgical lights a golden halo around his silhouette. 

Immediately, the hunter broke into a smile.

“Cas! Fuck, buddy, we thought you were a goner there!” 

The door to the specimen room burst open- one of the guards was shouting. There was a brief scuffle and then Sam’s face appeared as well. 

There was blood in his hair. Cas frowned. 

Reapers weren’t known to travel in pairs. Nor were they known for their collateral damage. 

He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of Dean’s face- not that it told him anything. Reapers  _ felt _ corporeal… or at least, he thought so. 

Instead, Cas moved to run his fingers over his mouth, exploring the damage there for the first time. 

It wasn’t as bad as he feared. In fact, from the outside it felt almost normal. He prodded at his lip, only to see the faces above him melt into twin expressions of shock and disgust. 

“Are those  _ stitches? _ ” Sam exclaimed, but Dean was already gone, rummaging through the forgotten instrument tray.

When he came back, there was a scalpel glinting in his hand. Cas stared at it, wide-eyed, but he didn’t strike out. 

Maybe Dean would kill him. Maybe not. Either way; this was going to happen. Cas’s only choice was whether he’d like to be restrained. After weeks, maybe  _ months, _ of constant restraints, Cas was willing to bear this if it meant being free a little while longer. 

He looked up into Dean’s eyes, giving him a small nod. 

“Cas, buddy, I need you to stay still for me, yeah?” 

Cas gave another small nod. He’d stay still, they didn’t need to tie him down. 

Dean’s fingertips were rough against Cas’s lips, parting them slightly to reveal the black thread binding them together. The hunter was quick with the knife, slicing through each twist of thread without nicking Cas’s skin. Carefully, he took hold of the loose ends, and Cas winced as he felt the thread sliding through his lips and tongue. 

“That all of ‘em?” Dean asked, and Cas nodded without thinking. 

“Yes,” he answered after a second. His voice was rough, muddled. He’d nearly bitten through his tongue more than once since being muzzled- it felt large in his mouth now, interfering with his words. “May I have the knife, please?” 

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, having a quick and silent conversation. They reached a conclusion and Dean passed the scalpel over, handle-first. 

“Thank you,” Castiel told him, accepting it. He flipped the blade around and slashed it across his own chest. 

Sam’s wordless negative changed to a shout of surprise as the room filled with a blinding light. Cas’s wings vanished into licking flames of blue grace, and the runes scarred into his body blazed white and disappeared. 

“Fuck, warn a guy,” Dean grumbled, raising a hand to block the light. 

“Forgive my impatience,” Cas answered, rolling his shoulders and running a quick inventory on his internal organs. “The binding is actually quite uncomfortable.” 

“Is that what they did? Bound you?” Sam asked. Cas nodded. 

“Among other things.” 

The angel glanced at the door, noticing for the first time that there appeared to be a corpse propping it open. 

“I take it that our alliance with the men of letters has come to an end?” 

Footsteps were echoing down the hallway, and from somewhere far away, Cas could hear men shouting. 

“That’s probably a fair bet,” Dean answered. He was loading his gun. 

“Yeah, I don’t think there’s any coming back from this,” Sam agreed. He was cocked and ready, his aim fixed on the door. 

Cas’s grace swelled, filling his body until his eyes burned blue above a savage grin. 

“Good.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/116811.html?thread=42564939#t42564939
> 
> I totally had a Dark Kermit with this one. I was talking to @GertieCraign and I'm outlining like, how I want there to be all this torture and pain and hopelessness and dehumanization and she's like "yeah but what if he's also getting raped by the guards at night" and I'm like "this is why you're my beta." 
> 
> So I threw that in there. 
> 
> This fic is over, but if you guys wanna read a really good one about a very traumatized Cas recovering from a fuckton of physical and sexual abuse might I recommend Long Exposure? 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7752889/chapters/17677810


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